


call for me, you know I'll run

by cupcakeb



Series: here's to us [3]
Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff and Angst, it's what they deserve, polo isn't dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakeb/pseuds/cupcakeb
Summary: Lu and Polo run into each other years after high school, at a warehouse rave in Brooklyn, of all places. It's all kinds of weird until it's not.OR: Polo hasn't spoken to any of his former classmates since he left for boarding school halfway through senior year. Turns out reconnecting with Lu comes with its own unique challenges...
Relationships: Lucrecia "Lu" Montesinos Hendrich/Leopoldo "Polo" Benavent Villada
Series: here's to us [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910464
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IWhiteCrossI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWhiteCrossI/gifts).



> alright, confession time...
> 
> As some people have picked up on, my two previous stories [quitting this while you're ahead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25251166/chapters/61213834) and [been saying yes instead of no](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549117/chapters/61994575#workskin) take place in the same alternate universe. This is the conclusion to the trilogy. They are somewhat told in chronological order, so reading all three of them might be helpful but isn't strictly necessary to follow along.

It's strange. Lu spent so much of her high school life being high strung and with her mind set on pursuing the wrong goals — straight As, Guzmán, having others fear her — that getting to New York and pursuing all the _right_ goals feels weird, somehow. (Fine, the straight As probably weren’t the _wrong_ thing to go after, per se, but in hindsight, she wishes she’d let herself relax a little bit while she still could.)  
  
High school was a walk in the park compared to Columbia. Nothing prepared her for taking a full load of classes while spending the rest of her time leading a group of community impact volunteers and being involved in several student organizations. She’s never been busier.  
  
She’s also never been happier. Excelling at things gives her the natural high others need drugs for.  
  
As a younger teen, she used to be jealous of the popular kids who somehow got everything she ever wanted without working for it — now she’s glad she’s never had anything handed to her. Her work ethic is unparalleled. Her grades are perfect. Her professors love her.  
  
Perhaps the most obvious advantage to be had from all of these things is the way her father sends her an email with begrudging praise when she’s cramming for finals at the end of April in her first year of college. It’s transparent, honestly — one of the big Mexican student associations ran a little feature on her on their website, and she’s sure it somehow got back to her dad when one of his diplomat friends found it.  
  
So now she’s good enough to be his daughter again. Of course.  
  
She still agrees to speak to him on the phone when he mentions a possible internship opportunity at the General Consulate of Mexico in New York. Her major at Columbia is International Relations, and if she can leverage her dad’s connections to somehow get practical experience in the field, she’s willing to put up with having him think she’s happy he got in touch with her.  
  
“It’ll be hard work,” he says, and she rolls her eyes. Yeah, like she isn’t used to working hard. Like she hasn’t been working hard her entire life to somehow make him think she’s good enough to be proud of. “You’ll probably be doing the kind of admin work no one else is willing to pick up.”  
  
He’s still patronizing, then. That’s reassuring. It would’ve been a little too weird if he suddenly became a decent person in the year since they last spoke.  
  
The internship is definitely hard work, but compared to her usual busy schedule, Lu finds it’s the kind of work she can go about with purpose. She loves being the person people go to for help with organizing events — of which there are apparently many over the summer months — and loves the grateful looks her superiors shoot her when she tells them she’s got a handle on things.  
  
She loves every single second of it. That doesn’t mean she isn’t completely burned out by the end of the summer.  
  
It’s the middle of August and she was supposed to finish the internship last week, but agreed to stay for another week to finish a project and now that everything’s fully done and dusted, the stress of it all completely overwhelms her.  
  
She really needs to get away.  
  
It’s not hard to get Carla to invite her to London again, and if she’s being honest it’s exactly what she was angling for when she decided to call her. She books a last-minute flight to Heathrow on a whim, packs only the essentials, and spends ten blissful days hanging out with Carla and reminiscing about the kind of reckless teenagers they used to be a few years ago.  
  
The girl asks her if she’s dating anyone two nights into the trip as they’re sipping cocktails in an entirely too fancy bar overlooking the London skyline, and she laughs into her sixty dollar cocktail, then shakes her head.  
  
“I barely have time to eat,” she says. “No sane man would put up with playing second fiddle to my ambition.”  
  
Carla smiles at her. “You and your ambition should just tie the knot already — the most perfect couple I ever did see.”  
  
“Cheers to that,” Lu says, raising her glass. People around them are looking at them funny because they’re being too loud for this classy establishment with the quiet elevator music playing, but she doesn’t care. She’s always been proud of drawing attention.  
  
When Lu asks Carla who she’s seeing naked these days, the blonde rolls her eyes and brushes off the question and she figures that’s fine. She’ll find out eventually anyway, even if Carla thinks she’s good at keeping secrets.  
  
**  
  
She and Nadia are still living on campus for their second year, and they’re still sharing a dorm room. The location is convenient, it’s covered by their scholarship, and it’s not like Lu isn’t constantly either in class or at the library anyway — where she goes at the end of the day to pass out for a blissful five hours is irrelevant. 

They could probably afford to move out, now that Lu’s father has decided to no longer deny her access to her trust fund, but she figures she might as well save that for next year. 

Nadia falls head over heels for some Australian dude she meets at a model UN conference, and Lu swears she doesn’t see her for more than a few minutes at a time for the entirety of the month of October because Nadia’s literally constantly hanging out with him. They’ve been introduced and he seems nice, charming even, but Lu also can’t wait for the initial honeymoon phase to wear off so she can have her friend back. 

Sameer, who everyone but Nadia calls Sam, is studying Political Science at NYU, has wealthy parents who are paying the rent on his loft in the West Village, and honestly seems a little too perfect to be real. He’s Muslim, although he doesn’t really practice, which is precisely what Nadia is doing, too — and they’re absolutely perfect for each other. He’s basically Malick, but real and not secretly fucking Nadia’s brother on the side. Lu actually really likes the guy. They spend some time together, sometimes grab lunch in between classes when Nadia has study group meetings, and Lu tells him in November that he better make sure she gets to be maid of honor at their wedding. 

As for her own love life —well, Lu hardly has the time. She spends a few weeks casually seeing one of the TAs for her Public Policy class, but that sort of fizzles out, and sometimes she’ll let hot Wall Street financiers buy her a few drinks while she decides whether they’re worth going home with. The few times she does, she tends to leave feeling rather unsatisfied, so she adjusts her preferences slightly, starts going for venture capitalists over portfolio managers. (There’s a difference, okay? Portfolio managers take things for granted.)

It’s her second year of not going home for Christmas, even though she’s speaking to her father again and could technically go. Randomly, she spends Christmas Day at her Conflict in the Middle East professor’s Midtown apartment, because she very kindly invited her to join her when she found out Lu didn’t have plans. Americans get a bad rep for being fake nice all the time — the woman is genuinely one of the sweetest people Lu has ever met. 

Nadia is in Australia with Sam for Christmas, meeting his fucking parents and entire extended family because they’re obviously getting married one day. Lu isn’t bitter, really, it’s just unfair that Nadia is set for life at 20, while she’s 19 and struggling to even find casual hookups — maybe turning 20 in a few months will help with that. Neither of them even celebrates Christmas, so the holiday is a total excuse to introduce Nadia to his parents, and Lu is sick and tired of the beach pictures she keeps sending her. _‘I get it, it’s summer there!!!!’_ she texts her one night, then quickly follows it up with _‘miss you have the best time but know I hate you!!’_ because she obviously wants Nadia to enjoy herself. It’s just inconvenient that her enjoyment means Lu is forced to be on her own for two weeks.  
  
She speaks to Valerio once or twice over the holiday season, their usual superficial catch-ups and banter to make sure they’re at least peripherally aware of what’s happening in each other’s lives, and she really is happy his weird relationship with Rebeka is working out. Lu can’t stand the girl, but she also rationally knows there’s no way she’d ever openly admit to liking _any_ of his girlfriends, so she figures having it be someone she knows, on some level, to not be a total bitch is preferable. 

School is still busy, but she takes it easy her spring semester, allows herself to stick with just one elective rather than the two she usually goes for. She’s earned a little bit of a break. Her and Nadia fly down to Florida for spring break because Lu has a distant cousin in Miami, and Lu kind of loves it there, even if it’s full of conservative Cuban assholes who try to hit on her using ridiculously sexist pickup lines.  
  
Things are fine, really. She’s halfway through undergrad and hasn’t felt the need to jump off the Empire State Building yet, which probably bodes well for the future.  


***  
  
She’s at some pretentiously named run-down warehouse in Brooklyn, at an NYU party Nadia and Sam dragged her to, which really means Sam dragged them both here seeing as he’s the only one of them who actually _goes_ to NYU.  
  
Sam’s got one arm loosely thrown around each of them, because he’s known Lu as long as he’s known Nadia and they’re kind of close friends, despite their obvious differences.  
  
Third-wheeling has become her bread and butter; she doesn’t really mind that much anymore. Nadia and Sam aren’t particularly into PDA (“Unlike you,” Nadia likes to joke, which, yeah — if Lu could take back some of her teenage moments of exhibitionism, she would) so it really isn’t that big of a deal.  
  
It’s the kind of party she’d expect from a warehouse in Brooklyn — there are people in funky neon outfits, some equipped with glow sticks, some clearly on crack or speed or whatever the kids are calling it these days. It’s New York — drugs are a given. A soon to be famous DJ duo is on stage, just under the radar enough to play at a venue as hip as this, and as Lu looks around, she rolls her eyes. She came all the way to Brooklyn for _this_?!  
  
Anyway — finals are done, and tonight’s the last real night out of the semester before people are gonna start heading home. Lu is staying in the city for a few more weeks, is even looking forward to spending two months interning at the Mexican Consulate General again, and then she’s going back to Spain in late July. She plans on getting seriously wasted tonight to prepare for two months of not having any semblance of a life whatsoever.  
  
Nadia leans over and grins at her, yelling over the loud electronic music. “More drinks?”  
  
“Yeah,” Lu nods, turning to smile at Sam. “Sam — get us drinks, okay? We’re gonna go dance.”  
  
She doesn’t wait for him to agree before she grabs Nadia’s arm and drags her into the crowd, instantly twirling her around and pulling her closer when they make it a little further out onto the dance floor. She’s tipsy from the tequila shots they did when they first got here, and it’s one of those rare early summer nights where everything just feels… right.  
  
“You look hot as fuck,” Lu yells over the music, admiring the black crop top she’d convinced Nadia to wear. She definitely has superior taste when it comes to dressing Nadia. Her hair is a controlled curly mess around her face, her lips are painted a maroon color and really, if I Lu was into women, she’d probably marry Nadia. That’s how pretty she thinks her best friend is.  
  
Nadia grins at her, then pulls on her hip to get her to lean in. They’re basically slow dancing to the weird drum and bass song currently playing, but this is easier for talking. “You’re wearing that lipstick again,” Nadia says, giving her an approving once-over. They both love the shade of deep red Lu likes to save for nights where she’s dressing to impress. “You’re totally gonna find someone to go home with tonight, aren’t you?”  
  
Well, that’s the plan, anyway. If someone suitable presents himself as an option, Lu certainly wouldn’t mind. It’s the reason she’s wearing a skirt, too — easy access for any potentially promiscuous situations she might find herself in. It’s not slutty if you’re not asking for it, okay? Lu doesn’t ask; she demands.  
  
Sam comes over with their drinks, and they dance for a while, then go back to the bar for more shots. Lu is feeling comfortably drunk as she leans against the bar, and Nadia is leaning into Sameer a little the way she usually does after a few drinks, so Lu figures she’ll give them a moment alone. She’s nice like that. It’s a totally selfless decision which has absolutely nothing to do with the cute blonde guy who’s been eyeing her for the past ten minutes.  
  
He’s tall and broad, with gorgeous defined facial features and gives off old money vibes, which makes him a triple threat in Lu’s book. When she walks over to him he grins as he takes her in, then makes a comment about how she’s a classy sight for sore eyes in the midst of all these hipsters, and she can’t help but fall for that line. He probably could’ve insulted her to her face and she still would’ve wanted to sleep with him — finals were intense and she’s sexually frustrated.  
  
She leads him out to the dance floor with a little bit more force than strictly necessary and doesn’t mind one bit when he grabs her around the waist roughly to pull her towards him. Old money with a hidden aggressive streak — exactly her type. 

“I gotta go check in with my friends,” he tells her a few songs in, and she nods, ready to wait for him here when he grabs her hand. “Let me show you off.”  
  
She knows that’s one of her weaknesses — she’s never _not_ gonna be super into being complimented — so she lets him guide her through the crowds, eventually ending up in a little separate room off the main warehouse, where a couple of guys are sitting around a table. All of them look rich, the brands of their shirts and the makes of their watches giving them away, in kind of a cool, understated way. She had no idea there were private VIP areas at hipster warehouse parties in Brooklyn, but she really likes the intimate vibe.  
  
Lu doesn’t know this guy’s name, but she really hopes she’ll get to find out. She sort of glances at each of the guys one by one, trying to figure them out a bit, and she’s about to ask nameless hot rich dude if they can just go back to his place when her eyes land on a familiar face. It takes her a minute to place it, honestly, because it’s been a few years.  
  
The guy she’s staring at is talking to another dude next to him excitedly, gesturing wildly and only when she clears her throat quietly does he look up and meet her eyes.  
  
Holy shit. Did she really just run into Polo at a fucking warehouse rave in Brooklyn? She didn’t even know he was in New York. Hell, she didn’t even know he was in the country. She hasn’t seen him since he transferred to some boarding school overseas more than halfway through their senior year of high school for… reasons she’d rather not get into.  
  
His mouth gapes at the sight of her, and she’d be lying if she said she’s not at least a little intrigued. No grudge she may or may not be holding against him could ever be great enough for her to not drunkenly walk over to him and throw her arms around him for a hug.  
  
“What the fuck,” she whispers in his ear as they hug. “Polo?”  
  
He pulls away, a familiar boyish smile on his face, even if every other thing about his appearance makes her think he’s all grown up. He must be twenty now, almost twenty-one, which is a bizarre concept to wrap her head around in her current state of inebriation.  
  
They’re still just kind of standing there, neither of them sure what the hell to say or ask or make of this completely random encounter. The guy she was dancing with earlier walks over, puts a hand on her shoulder possessively, and she instinctively takes a step back from him. Yeah, she’s no longer interested.  
  
“Oh, you met Leo,” the guy says, and Lu very nearly cracks up. Leo. The way he draws out the name in his American accent makes her picture DiCaprio, not the anxiety-ridden preppy kid she used to share rides to middle school dances with. “Leo, this is my new friend… Uh…”  
  
Lu grins at Polo, then flashes the blonde guy a smile. “Lucy,” she says, watching Polo’s face closely. “A pleasure.”  
  
She holds out her hand for him to shake, all wannabe formal, and he grabs it. Polo laughs and shakes his head, looks at her as if he thinks she’s full of shit in a good way, and she beams back at him. He’s still holding onto her hand.  
  
It must be obvious that they know each other from somewhere, and she decides she doesn’t care enough to explain it to Polo’s blonde friend. Instead, she leads Polo out of the small room, into the corridor, where the bass of the music from the party next door is making the walls shake.  
  
“I have so many questions,” she says, a hand on his arm, a disbelieving smile on her lips.  
  
Polo laughs, confident and calm. “I’ve had too many drinks for your many questions.”  
  
That’s a fair point, actually. She probably isn’t sober enough to ask him everything she wants to know and still remember the answers tomorrow.  
  
There’s really only one thing to do. “We could dance?” 

He groans and shakes his head, smiling a little. “You know I’m a terrible dancer, Lu.”  
  
She doesn’t know what makes her say it, really. Before she knows it, she’s pulling on his simple navy (expensive, by the feel of it) cotton shirt, wrapping it around her hand to pull him closer. “I know Polo is a terrible dancer,” she smirks. “But what about _Leo_?” 

They’ve always enjoyed a little bit of friendly competition, going all the way back to their seventh-grade spelling bee, where she somehow ended up losing to him on the spelling of the word encyclopedia, even though she could’ve sworn there’s a silent A in there somewhere. Maybe he rigged the whole thing.  
  
That’s why it doesn’t really surprise her when he grabs her hand and leads her out into the warehouse, into the crowd of drugged up hipsters, and starts to dance like his life depends on it. For all she knows, maybe it does — maybe he needs this to fuel his ego in the same way she needs this to feel less lonely.  
  
And he’s not a bad dancer, not really. Both of them are too drunk to bother with coordinated dance moves, instead just going with the flow and moving along to the sort of drunk choreography that includes whatever the music makes them think of.  
  
Her phone buzzes in her skirt pocket what feels like hours later, reminding her that Nadia and Sam are still around and that she should probably let them know she’s alive and well. Alive and well and… dancing with Polo. God, Nadia is gonna throw a fit.  
  
“Come with me,” she tells Polo loudly over the music, then grabs his hand. He goes willingly, and that’s how she knows he’s truly drunk. The Polo she knows — the Polo she _knew_ — would never just go along with her instructions without asking her a million questions about where they’re going first.  
  
Nadia texts her to tell her they’re waiting for her at the bar, and Lu isn’t sure what sort of reaction to expect from her friend when she walks up to her, hand in hand with Polo. It’s definitely a weird situation. She watches Nadia’s face closely as they approach them, sees realization flash in her eyes, and then the girl is laughing and shaking her head like she can’t believe this is really happening. Lu is on the same page.  
  
Polo looks equally confused, and it takes her a minute to remember that the last time she saw Polo, she and Nadia were sworn enemies fighting over Guzmán. Ah, the good old days.  
  
It seems it’s up to her to break the awkward silence, currently beautifully accompanied by a techno remix of the song Lonely by Akon.  
  
“Look who I found,” she tells Nadia, who just seems lost as she looks between the two of them.  
  
Polo goes in for cheek kisses because someone needs to if this is ever going to get less weird. Lu is really grateful to learn he hasn’t lost an ounce of the politeness she always kind of admired.  
  
Next to Nadia, Sam is just sort of watching the exchange with a smile on his face, probably frustrated at the way he still doesn’t speak Spanish well enough to understand what’s happening.  


Nadia smiles at Polo and tries her best to gloss over the randomness of it all. “Sorry Polo, I just did not expect to—“  
  
“To ever see me again? Yeah,” Polo laughs, all self-deprecating and genuine. “Kind of what I thought when Lu spotted me earlier.”  


Lu squints at Polo a little as she watches him chat with Nadia, notices how he effortlessly switches to English to discuss some NYU business — Polo apparently goes to NYU too — with Sam. It’s probably the wrong thing to point out, but she’s drunk (and Polo just bought her _another_ drink) and she doesn’t have a filter three or four shots into any given night. 

When she sees Nadia launch into an undoubtedly long anecdote, Lu puts a hand in Polo’s back pocket and leans in close enough for him, and only him, to hear when she says, “Who knew you’d grow up so well,” a line she would typically associate with creepy old men complimenting little girls. 

He doesn’t turn around to acknowledge he heard her at all but does wrap an arm around her waist casually to pull her closer. It’s perfectly innocent, as far as she’s concerned. Nadia still glances at her when Polo isn’t looking, like she’s urging her to make a move.  
  
Lu kind of finds herself thinking Polo might actually be attractive, then realizes that she could see herself taking him home tonight. The realization is bizarre for her to come to. Maybe the years of seeing him as off-limits, as an unattractive non-option because he was always just _Carla’s_ were misleading. Or maybe she's just had a little bit too much gin.  
  
By the time Nadia and Sam leave, Lu is playing with the watch on Polo’s wrist, and she rolls her eyes when Nadia hugs her goodbye and tells her to use protection.  
  
She’s obviously not gonna sleep with Polo. That’s ridiculous.  
  
Nadia is staying with Sam tonight, and their dorm is all the way in Upper Manhattan, so Lu considers her options for the night. She’s sure Polo’s probably got a swanky apartment courtesy of his mothers’ overbearing natures in Tribeca or something, so it’s mostly a matter of practicality when she asks him if she can see his place.  
  
It may sound like a blatant pickup line, but that really isn’t her intention. 

He laughs at her anyway when she asks. “Subtlety has never been your strong suit,” he says, but he’s also grabbing her hand and helping her off the barstool, so he probably doesn’t mind too much.  
  
When he guides her into a cab and tells the driver his address she nods her approval. She wasn’t wrong; he’s apparently got a place on the Lower East Side. It’s a little edgier of a neighborhood than she expected from him, if she’s being honest.  
  
The place is fancy enough, but not insanely so. He’s got a doorman whom he greets by name, and the casual politeness honestly kind of makes her swoon. She’s always had a thing for men with manners. The apartment itself is a simple one-bedroom, with a spacious kitchen and a living room that’s big enough to host a couple of people. Despite the relatively small size, she’s sure he’s paying several thousand dollars a month for the place — New York is ridiculous like that. 

When she’s finished inspecting the place, she finds him standing in the kitchen, his arms crossed in front of his chest and a smile on his face. “So? Is it everything you wanted it to be and more?” 

Lu has sobered up a little since they left the party, and it’s making her want to actually ask him all the things she couldn’t before. That’s probably a terrible idea, considering how it’s three in the morning. Instead, she smiles back at him and nods, then grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and pours herself some water from the tap. 

“You know I have bottled water, right?” 

Lu scoffs, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Snob.” 

“Says the girl wearing,“ he reaches out to brush her earlobe, “two-carat earrings to a warehouse party in Brooklyn.” 

Touché. So they’re both still a little pretentious. Shocker. 

“One carat,” she corrects, rolling her eyes. “I’m not gonna risk wearing any of my nice jewelry to this sort of establishment.” 

And fine, maybe he’s right about her not liking tap water. She begrudgingly sets down the glass and opens his fridge instead, laughing when all she finds in it is several dozen bottles of Dasani water and some beer. 

“Really? That’s all you keep in your fridge?”  
  
Polo’s responding shrug is a little sheepish. She kind of likes that side of him, she decides. It reminds her of the version of him she used to know, except he seems a little more unapologetic now. Good for him. 

They stay up until the sun comes up, and she fills him in on everything he’s missed since he left Spain and stopped speaking to all of their mutual friends. Or maybe they stopped speaking to him — she’s not sure of the specifics, but enough time has passed for her to think Polo probably deserves another chance. 

“And Guzmán? How is he?” Polo asks quietly. She can tell that’s something he’s been wondering about because he looks a little nervous as he says it. 

“In Barcelona for university. Who knew he had the brains for engineering?” 

They both laugh at that, but the atmosphere is still tense and weird, so she figures she’ll break the ice with some more fun gossip. “I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping with Carla,” she says, and Polo gives her a confused look. “Yeah, that was my reaction, too.”

He’s playing with the rings on her fingers and she’s sort of leaning into him a little as they sit on his leather couch. 

“I guess he did have a crush on her when we were, like, five years old,” he laughs, shaking his head. “But that’s fucking weird.” 

Lu stretches her legs out and folds her feet up into his lap. “Jealous?” 

“I’m an independent hot single guy,” he jokes. “I don’t need no hot blondes in my life.”  


He fills her in on what he’s been up to, too — from boarding school in England to NYU, with plenty of therapy in between. He doesn’t even look like an anxious mess when he references the Marina incident, but makes it abundantly clear that he’s remorseful and “on better meds now” and she somehow just feels incredibly sad for him. He lost his best friend over this, and Marina’s death was awful, obviously, but it’s not like he killed her in cold blood. Mental illness is a very real concept.  


They end up napping in his bed, both of them too tired to bother with pajamas, and she wakes up to the sun streaming in her face and a couple of suggestive texts from Nadia. It’s almost enough to trigger her petulant side and make her do something stupid, like take a selfie with a sleeping Polo just to rub it in Nadia’s face. 

Polo has an arm thrown loosely over her stomach where her shirt’s riding up, and since he’s clearly still asleep, she figures there’s no harm in pushing back against him a little. Cuddling is probably the thing she misses most about being in a relationship. 

He groans in his sleep, then tightens his arm around her and nuzzles her neck a little. It probably shouldn’t feel as good as it does. 

She texts Nadia back, tells her to mind her own fucking business, and closes her eyes again. Everything else can wait. 

** 

It’s not the start of a beautiful friendship, because her life isn’t a romantic comedy and if it was, she’s sure Polo wouldn’t be her leading man. It would be Guzmán, and it would be the kind of movie where she’s treated like shit and strung along and cheated on, only to then finally realize she’s probably better off alone. The final scene would be her dancing to some faux empowering song about not needing a man and it would have total girl power vibes. She wasn’t destined for romantic greatness. 

She leaves his apartment around lunchtime and tries not to think about the fact that she has his number now, because twenty-four hours ago she barely even remembered he existed, so the urge to text him the second she gets into an Uber to head uptown is probably completely misguided. 

Nadia is back at the dorm when Lu lets herself in, and the look she gives her is about as subtle as the texts she’s been sending her all morning, so Lu instantly feels the need to shut that down. 

“Do not give me that look! No, I did _not_ ,” she scolds, sitting down on Nadia’s bed to glare at her. “I can’t believe you think I’d just throw caution to the wind and sleep with Polo, of all people.”

Nadia grins at her. “As long as he’s not planning on murdering you, I don’t think he’s a bad pick for a hookup,” she says, and the sarcasm is honestly a little too much. “What’s he doing in New York?” 

“Studying business at NYU Stern,” she says, and Nadia looks impressed. Yeah, she is, too. “His place is really nice.” 

In hindsight, she probably set herself up for what follows. Nadia’s eyebrows shoot up, and a teasing smirk makes its way onto her lips. “How’s his bed?” 

“Ugh,” Lu groans. “Don’t even. He’s gonna be in Madrid all summer anyway.” 

Nadia grins at her. “Did you tell him you’re going back in July?”

“That’s none of his business.”

Nadia’s laugh is infuriating. “Oh hun, it definitely will be when you sleep with him in Madrid.” 

She’s not going to sleep with him. Not in Madrid, not in New York, not ever. Especially now that Nadia suggested it — Lu hates being predictable.

“I’m gonna shower,” Lu decides, then looks back at Nadia, a calculating look on her face. “Don’t tell Omar about this. I don’t want this getting back to Carla and Guzmán.”

It’s not that she doesn’t trust Nadia to keep secrets from Omar, but in this case better safe than sorry definitely applies. 

“Do you really think they’d care? Aren’t they dating?” 

Lu grabs her robe and towel, then her toiletry bag. “They’re in denial, more than anything.”

“All of our friends are so good at that,” Nadia muses. “Remember Valerio and Rebeka?” 

“I’m trying not to, for my sanity,” Lu says, because she sometimes still can’t believe Valerio is in a serious relationship at all, not to mention with _Rebeka_. It’s too weird to even think about, and she’s kind of glad she hasn’t been back to Spain since that whole _thing_ started. 

“Let me get cleaned up and then we can get some frozen custard and cry about how you’re leaving me tomorrow, alright?” 

Lu isn’t gonna let one weird encounter with someone from her past ruin her summer. No, if anyone’s gonna ruin her summer, it’ll be _her_. She’s self-sufficient like that. 

**

Her two months at the consulate are honestly kind of a blur. Summer is when all the social events are happening, and if Lu ever leaves the office before 8:00, it’s usually just to run home to change for whatever evening program they’re putting on. 

She and Nadia are finally moving out of their stupidly tiny dorm room and into an actual (tiny) apartment after the summer, so she’s staying with distant family while all of their stuff is in storage. 

She still hates her dad on most days, but his willingness to ‘reconcile their differences’ (his words, not hers) has gotten her not one but _two_ very impressive internships to put on her CV now, and a free place to stay for the summer. 

Of course, she knows he’s only helping her because she’s doing well enough for herself to be worth bragging about, and maybe that should piss her off, but it really just makes her feel an irrational amount of pride. Yeah, it’s been grueling, hard work to keep her grades perfect, to pour hours into volunteering and getting involved in different student body advocacy groups. She’s definitely allowed to be proud. 

Lu probably could’ve gone her whole life without knowing this much about what her great aunt’s cooking tastes like. Thankfully she’s out for most of her meals, at work during the day or working events the consulate is hosting at night — that’s a good thing because she’s not sure she would’ve been able to keep her mouth shut about how the woman’s chilaquiles are a little too dry if she had to eat them every day. 

Even though it’s nice to be busy with work she actually enjoys, rather than class work for a change, Lu is still counting down the days till her flight to Madrid. She hasn’t been back there in two years, and it’s probably time. No part of her had really wanted to go back before, but she feels ready now. 

Valerio picks her up at the airport, hugs her like he missed her, and she teases him about it immediately. 

“Of course I did,” he says. “It’s so much harder to feel judged for every single one of my life choices when you’re all the way across the Atlantic.” 

That helps break the ice, and they chat easily about his work for the wineries and her latest adventures in academia while he drives towards their father’s house. 

“You know he still isn’t talking to me, right?” 

Of course she knows. She feels a little guilty about it, too; how their father has decided to let her back in while continuing to pretend like he doesn’t have a son. 

After the way things went down the last time she tried to intervene, she isn’t sure she’s willing to risk being cut off again just to try and get their dad to speak to Val — that alone makes her feel so selfish, she can hardly look him in the eye. 

There are a million things she wants to say, but she says none of them. Instead, she nods and stares out at the road ahead. 

Valerio parks down the street, then tells her to text him if she wants to get dinner with him and Rebeka later — ugh — and drives off, which is probably for the best.

When she rings the doorbell, her father comes out and hugs her like he’s genuinely excited to have her home again, even tries to make small talk about her flight, and it’s honestly a little jarring. 

He asks if she’d like to have dinner with him and some of his colleagues tonight, which sounds sensible from a networking point of view, but she’s jet-lagged and would really like some time to adjust to being back here before she’s forced to spend more than a few minutes at a time talking to her dad. It’s not really a lie, to say she’s got dinner plans, she just neglects to mention it’s with Valerio and his girlfriend. 

Dinner is actually kind of nice, and by the end of it, Lu is tired and tipsy enough to debate whether she should mention running into Polo. She decides against it — stirring the pot has never gotten her very far in life. She really doesn’t need any more drama.

** 

Polo starts texting her a few days after their little warehouse encounter. It’s bizarre. 

What’s more bizarre is the way she lets it happen; the way she actually starts texting him back and sometimes spaces out in the middle of work or on the subway when she gets all caught up in a conversation they’re having. 

It quickly turns into the sort of texting relationship where she tells him about stupid shit happening in her life, like when some asshole steals her cab, or when she has to walk up fifteen flights of stairs to her office because the elevator broke. Complaining is fun, and his self-righteous responses amuse her. 

He sends her memes sometimes or tells her about how New York and Madrid in the summer really are eerily similar, what with the borderline unbearable heat and humidity, and once, in early June, he spends a solid six hours straight giving her a rundown of the plight of flying first class when he’s on the way home and bored of the in-flight entertainment. He sends her selfies of himself trying out mid-flight yoga, and he’s honestly such a dork.

Maybe it should be startling, to realize she’s actually kind of friends with him, but it feels too normal — too natural — to overthink. It’s probably because it’s all been text-based so far. He knows she’s flying to Madrid in July, and he hasn’t pushed her to make plans to hang out, even though she honestly kind of wants to see him. 

It’s delicate. None of her friends know she’s talking to him, and Nadia is the only one who knows they ran into each other at all. She doesn’t want to spend the precious time she has in Madrid fighting with Guzmán or having Carla lecture her. So Polo did something bad three years ago — she can acknowledge that and hold him accountable without permanently shunning him, right?! You’d think a group of adults would be able to acknowledge people are complex beings with complex emotions.

The secrecy of it all almost makes it feel... Illicit. Sometimes she’ll sneakily take pictures of their (her? Semantics!) friends and send them to him. When Carla almost sees a text from him for the second time, she changes his name in her phone to Leo, just to be sure. 

It’s exhilarating, somehow, to keep this friendship hidden from everyone else. 

**

Carla and Guzmán are both obnoxiously stupid about labels, apparently. Lu watches them act like a fucking married couple at parties more than once before she gets Carla drunk to try and confront her about it. 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Carla says, her glass of wine mostly empty, so Lu tops it up again. “Why do you care so much about whether or not I’m calling him my boyfriend?” 

“Because he _is_ your boyfriend! He practically lives with you! Why are you fighting this so hard?” 

The blonde rolls her eyes. 

“You really need to get laid,” Carla tells her. “You’re way too invested in my love life. Get your own!” 

Lu rolls her eyes. So what if she hasn’t had sex in a few months. Okay, now that she’s thinking about it, it’s been more than a few; more like six. Maybe Carla has a point, but she can’t admit that. 

“I definitely do,” Lu agrees. She’s had a little too much wine. “I’ll go on a date with any guy of your choosing if you just fucking admit that you’re in love with Guzmán, okay?” 

She doesn’t appreciate the way Carla laughs in response. 

Ugh. Sue her for wanting her best friend to be happy.

“You’re a hypocrite,” Carla says, poking her shoulder. “Let’s order pizza.” 

If the way Carla perks up when she gets a text from Guzmán a little later is any indication, Lu is pretty sure her little pep talk worked. 

She doesn’t let herself think about the way she’s undoubtedly smiling when her phone buzzes with a text from Polo. He’s telling her his moms are out of town and asks if she wants to hang out this weekend, and she’s too tipsy to pretend like she doesn’t, so she agrees to go. The way he’s forward and casual about it makes her grin; it’s nice that he isn’t afraid to admit he wants to see her. 

It’s fine. She’s fine.  
  
(Crushes are stupid.)

**

When Lu decides that it’s time for Carla and Guzmán to get their shit together and date, she tells Polo it's up to the two of them to come up with a plan.

Polo doesn't seem to understand this, and asks Lu why she's doing it. He’s so naive sometimes. She’s slightly patronizing when she says, "Darling," in that pitying voice and laughs a little bit.

They’re sitting on the sofa in his moms' living room, and she's boxed in between his legs as they each sip from a glass of champagne. It could almost pass for classy, the sight of them like that, if not for the simple jeans shorts and the plain white Marc Jacobs tank she’s wearing.  
  
“I’m just saying,” Polo tries, even though he really should know better than to pretend Lu isn’t absolutely right. "They'll figure it out if they want to."   
  
“You know them,” she says, moving down further to rest her head in his lap. She’s on her phone, texting Carla, something with lots of exclamation marks and a not so subtle reference to her going for dinner with her future in-laws. “You know _Carla_.”  
  
Maybe it’s weird that she’s sharing all of this with him, considering the way he’s obviously not spoken to either Carla or Guzmán in years. It feels natural, though. 

“You know, when I invited you over here, it wasn’t really to help you play matchmaker,” he says, running a hand through her hair. The casual affection is new, but she kind of likes it. She’s never gonna admit that to him.  
  
He takes the glass of champagne from her hands and sets it down on the table next to them. 

And no, she didn’t come here to be flirty, even though they’ve _been_ flirting. It’s easy for late-night texting to turn sexual, and even easier to pretend like they’re having an objective discussion on preferences, rather than kind of not so subtly sharing a list of their sexual likes and dislikes with each other. 

(He’s apparently into choking. She’d love to test his resolve someday.) 

So she doesn’t mean to be flirty when she finally sits up, her back against his chest and her face a little too close to his and says, “Well, what did you invite me over for then?” 

It’s a simple question, and she hopes he has a simple answer prepared. Maybe some line about tequila and taking a dip in his pool. 

This adult version of Polo is still new to her, sometimes. Predictable but also... not. Certainly intriguing, somehow. When his hand brushes up her arm to rest on her neck, kind of grabbing her roughly, her breath catches. She really hopes this is going where she thinks it is. 

“I thought we could spend some time getting to know each other better,” he says quietly, confidently, pulls off this terribly cheesy line like he was born to deliver it, and she licks her lips, turns around in his lap but doesn’t lean in to kiss him like she wants to. She will, but not yet. 

“I think I know you,” she states, bold, and he’s toying with her necklace now, brushing his hand further down her neck to move the strap of her top to the side and run his fingers over her protruding collarbone. 

When he laughs, deep and a little menacing, she feels heady with anticipation. God, this tension is fun. She really can’t wait to relieve it. 

He leans forward to bite at her ear, then sort of licks a line down her jaw until his lips are hovering dangerously close to hers. “You don’t know me at all, Lu,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing her with such force, it takes her a minute to find the right rhythm to respond in kind, but then she’s right there with him, living in the moment, grinding against him as though her life depends on it, letting him bite down on her collarbone for sport. 

He’s a lot more depraved than she expected him to be — certainly more depraved than she would’ve expected from the stories Carla used to tell her, but she supposes he’s had years to figure out his kinks. And for once in his life he isn’t polite, isn’t well mannered, barely even acknowledges her demands to go faster as he takes charge unapologetically. 

This confident, sexual side of him is sinister and messed up, and absolutely fucking perfect for her. It’s a drastic contrast to the floppy-haired well-mannered boy she used to know. 

It’s five in the morning when she finally wakes up in his bed, with very little recollection of how they eventually ended up here, and she sees no reason not to wake him up by climbing on top of him and leaning in to whisper something about needing him again. 

The marks on her neck are hard to hide, so she’s almost glad when Carla spends the entire week making excuses about being busy with ‘winery stuff’ when Lu asks her to hang out. 

She knows it’s bullshit because she sees Valerio a couple of times that week, who says it’s sort of off-season for the wine industry so that hopefully means Carla is busy confessing her love to Guzmán.  
  
Val has the decency not to comment on the teeth shaped mark on her collarbone. Rebeka isn’t as nice about it. “Who’s the secret admirer,” she asks over drinks one night when Lu’s carefully picked out top slips off her shoulder a little. Valerio is grinning at his girlfriend’s bold remark, and across from her Nadia looks suspicious and a little scandalized, as if she’s putting two and two together. 

“None of your fucking business,” Lu replies, and Nadia catches her eye, an unspoken question in them. “You don’t know him.” 

This makes Nadia grin a little, and Lu ends up kicking her under the table. When Valerio and Rebeka get up to get another round of drinks, Nadia starts laughing and shakes her head at Lu, which she doesn’t appreciate. 

It’s ridiculous because she hasn’t even mentioned the fact that she and Polo have been texting all summer to Nadia. The thought that she’s this easy to read is frustrating as hell. “So you finally gave in, huh?”

They’ve played this game before, so Lu knows there’s no point in pretending like she doesn’t know exactly what Nadia is referring to. 

“Was I not supposed to?” 

Nadia shakes her head and shrugs. “I just thought you’d be more stubborn about it. It’s not like you to make sensible choices when it comes to not making yourself suffer unnecessarily.” 

That’s preposterous. It’s probably also a little true, so she groans and rolls her eyes at Nadia instead of acknowledging what she said. “It’s not like I’m ever gonna see him again, probably.” 

“Oh darling,” Nadia mimics Lu’s catchphrase, then reaches across the table to put a hand on her arm. “You are in so much denial, it’s not even funny.” 

Rebeka and Valerio walk back over with a tray of drinks, and Lu gives Nadia a scolding look when she pulls her arm out of her reach. This better stay between them. 

She doesn’t see Polo again for the remaining nine days she’s in Madrid, but they’re still texting on and off most days, and she tries not to read into the way nothing has really changed. 

A friend with benefits is probably exactly the sort of friend she could use, and the benefits Polo comes with are pretty damn enjoyable. There are a million other ways she wants to have him, wants to see all of the fucked up sexual fantasies he’s told her about come to life, and since they’ll both be in the same city there’s probably no reason not to. 

Polo’s sexual deviance must have limits, right? She’s hoping she’ll get to find out.

**  
  
Back in New York, she and Nadia move into a small two-bedroom apartment in Hell’s Kitchen which costs way too much, considering the state of the place, but Lu didn’t spend her summer placating her father for nothing — he’s graciously agreed to pay half of their rent.  
  
Classes don’t start for another week, so they have time to settle in, and Nadia is the one to suggest a housewarming party.  
  
“We could barely fit more than five people in our living room,” Lu says, so a proper party is quickly off the table.  
  
“Let’s have a dinner party,” Nadia suggests instead, and yeah, that sounds fun. Lu is sort of hopeless when it comes to cooking, so she leaves menu planning to Nadia and puts herself in charge of drinks.  
  
Most of their friends aren’t back in town yet, and Polo just had a birthday and she hasn’t seen him since Spain, so she invites him. She doesn’t tell Nadia until the day of the dinner, to avoid excessive teasing.  
  
“Wait,” Nadia says, wiping a smudge of brownie batter off her arm. “So this is a double date.”  
  
Lu screeches her name, then hits her shoulder. “Very funny.”  
  
“Sam kind of assumed you used to date him, by the way,” Nadia says, going back to her baking. “After he saw you two together at the party.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“I don’t know, you looked pretty cozy…”  
  
Is it too much to ask for her friends to not be obnoxious about her potential romantic partners for once? This is precisely why she hasn’t mentioned Polo much to Nadia. The judgmental little looks and the suggestive comments are frankly annoying.  
  
It really is a double date, though, because it’s just her and Nadia and Sam and Polo in the end. Polo kisses her cheek when she greets him at the door, and he looks really, really hot in these beige pants and a cute crimson button-down. There’s some scruff on his face, and he gives her a not so subtle once-over and god damn it, she seizes the moment and kisses him.  
  
Carpe-ing the diem is never a bad idea, right? She’s been trying to do more of that.  
  
The problem with kissing him in the hall in front of their apartment, with Nadia and Sam already inside waiting for them, is kind of obvious. It’s supposed to be a quick kiss hello, just a way to get over how badly she wants to be touching him, but pulling away is really, really difficult.  
  
He’s holding a potted plant, apparently a housewarming gift, and it gets a little squished between their bodies.  
  
“Hi,” he finally says, pulling away and holding the plant out to her as a way to get her to move back. Smart. This wouldn’t work if they were both reckless and hot-headed; it’s a good thing he knows how to put a stop to things.  
  
All she does in response is nod at him, take the plant, and lead him inside. 

Nadia is seemingly no longer apprehensive about being around Polo, because they make idle chit chat all night, bonding over their love of all things Asian cuisine, and Lu is glad. Maybe it won’t be weird when they inevitably run into each other every now and then.  
  
At the end of the night, Lu helps Nadia carry their plates into the kitchen.  
  
“I’m gonna walk Polo home,” she says, and Nadia snorts. “What?”  
  
“Doesn’t he live on the Lower East Side? That’s, what, an eighty-minute walk?”  
  
Lu rolls her eyes. “We might Uber there.”  
  
The smug smile on Nadia’s face has no right to look this cute. They hug, because Lu is a hugger deep down. “Have a good walk,” Nadia says. “See you tomorrow?”  
  
Nodding, Lu says, “Maybe.”  
  
Nadia calls her a player, tells her to get some, and Lu bites her lip a little and throws her hands up in defeat as she walks out of the kitchen.  
  
**  
  
“No, don’t wear that, it’s ugly.”  
  
Lu is going through the dresses in her closet, trying to find something appropriate to wear to go see a musical with Polo. She scoffs, because she actually really likes this blue patterned dress, even if it’s maybe a little… out there.  
  
He’s sitting on her bed, clearly getting impatient, and she rolls her eyes at him as she unzips the dress again.  
  
Besides, he doesn’t get a vote. He’s a man. There are only so many ways to spice up your look when your only options are pants and a shirt, or pants and a button-down. Of course it took him less than two minutes to choose.  
  
“For someone who was raised by two mothers, you really don’t know how to talk to women,” Lu teases.  
  
He scowls, but it's mostly playful. “We’re seeing Dear Evan Hansen, there’s no need to dress like a peacock.”  
  
She finally settles on a simple maroon dress, a little too boho-chic for her usual tastes, but it’ll work for this casual-but-not occasion.  
  
Polo nods his approval when she pulls it over her head. “Can we go now?”  
  
Things have been getting a little too domestic for Lu’s taste. It’s October, and they both have classes, and while Polo isn’t as neurotic and obsessive about getting involved in extracurriculars as she is, he still has a few.  
  
Somehow, despite their busy schedules, they still sleep in the same bed more nights a week than not. He’s not her boyfriend, she’s not his girlfriend, and every single time she’s on FaceTime with Carla when he’s at her place, she worries that this will finally be it, that he’ll fuck it up and walk into the frame and her best friend will stop speaking to her.  
  
Which, fine, maybe Carla wouldn’t even be that upset. Maybe she’d be understanding, or at least try to be, would get over it after the initial shock. But Guzmán — who Carla is now finally referring to as her boyfriend? Lu has serious doubts he wouldn’t force Carla to cut Lu out of her life entirely. He’s the one who _gets_ to hold a grudge against Polo, even four years down the line.  
  
So it’s a little bit of a mess. Lu likes Polo. She likes him a little too much if she’s being honest. And here, in their New York bubble, things are great.  
  
It’s when her (their?) European friends are added to the mix that things might get complicated — more complicated than she’d like them to be — so she simply elects not to add them to it at all.  
  
The only one of their old classmates that Polo stayed in touch with somewhat is Ander, and Lu hasn’t asked, but she’s pretty sure Polo hasn’t told him they’re… hanging out. Ander would’ve told Guzmán, and Guzmán would’ve thrown a fit, and she knows Carla would’ve already called her to accuse her of hiding this from her. Which, in fairness, would be a warranted accusation.  
  
It’s easy enough to ignore all of that when everyone who shouldn’t know about them is thousands of miles away, but sometimes she gets a little tired of posting faceless Instagram stories when they’re hanging out — she’s told Carla she’s seeing “someone” who goes to NYU to get the girl to stop asking about it. Sometimes that doesn’t feel like enough anymore.  
  
She isn’t afraid of commitment, but she’s definitely afraid of choosing sides in the ongoing Polo-Guzmán conflict. Siding with one of them might mean risking friendships with people she’s known for half of her life.  
  
If there’s no label on it, there’s nothing to really tell people about, so Lu avoids the subject as best she can. That probably makes her a hypocrite, considering how she’d pestered Carla about this exact thing a few months ago, but whatever.  
  
People who take their own good advice are crazy, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

___________

“Are you even listening to me?” 

Lu looks up at him from her spot next to him on the couch and he can clearly tell she wasn’t by the way she blinks a little faster than she usually does. “Of course, I’m an excellent listener.” 

He snorts, because she isn’t, and they both know it. 

“Why are you being weird?” 

“I’m not being weird.” 

She’s being really weird. She walked in here an hour ago, barely even took him up on the opportunity to brag about how her presentation in class went today, and instead just quietly started eating dinner. There’s no way she’s not hiding something from him. 

“You’ve barely said anything in like an hour. You’re never quiet unless something is wrong,” and yeah, he expected the blow to his ribs where she elbows him. That doesn’t make what he said less true. “So what is it?” 

It’s February, and they’ve somehow actually fallen into a little bit of a routine. He usually sees her three or four times a week, almost always at his place because he lives alone, and typically, she stays the night. 

When he jokingly suggested they’re dating a few weeks ago, Lu slapped him and feigned offense, which was ridiculously hot but also clearly showed him it probably wasn’t the right time to have that conversation with her yet. 

Years of therapy have made him acutely aware of not just his own emotions but those of others around him, too. It’s somewhat counter intuitive, maybe, to let Lu continue in this constant state of avoidance, but he knows these things take time. He definitely has time to spare. 

“You’re here for spring break, right?”

He nods. She knows this, too, because they’ve already talked about maybe renting a car and driving up to Rhode Island. The way she acknowledges his reply is cryptic again — she just sighs likes she’s unsure what to say next. 

Okay, that’s enough vagueness for today. Even his tolerance has a limit — it may be high thanks to the crazy amount of nonsense he’s had to deal with in his life, but it’s there. Hitting pause on the episode of Community neither of them is really watching on Netflix, he turns to Lu on the couch and puts a hand on her arm, tracing the small tattoo on her wrist. 

“What?” 

Lu groans again, then rolls her eyes like having a conversation with him is a total burden for her. 

“Carla and Guzmán want to come for a visit,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes. 

That would explain her behavior today. They don’t really talk about _that_ aspect of all of this — how she definitely hasn’t told Carla they’re seeing each other. 

Last December, she spent a full thirty minutes yelling at him when he followed her on Instagram, terrified that one of their former classmates might notice. He’d tried to rationalize with her, told her his Instagram handle — _leo_ben_ — hardly gave away his identity but in the end it was easier to just unfollow her instead of having to deal with her freakout. 

He can tell she’s on the verge of a similar freakout now. Maybe a joke will lighten the mood. 

“Won’t that be awkward?” He laughs, and Lu glares at him. “Because of Nadia, I mean. Didn’t Guzmán have a thing for her?” 

At that, Lu relaxes a little. Maybe she thought he was alluding to the fact that the last time Guzmán interacted with him, he told him he’s never going to forgive him for killing his sister. He’s not insane enough to bring that up with her; not when they’re both sober, anyway. 

“Nadia’s practically married to Sam,” Lu shrugs. “I don’t think either of them cares anymore.” 

“So what’s the problem then?” 

And yeah, he knows what the problem is. He knows that it’s _him_ ; that she’s struggling to figure out how to tell her best friend of ten years — his ex-girlfriend — that they’re talking to each other at all, let alone sometimes see each other naked. But he wants to hear it from her. 

Truthfully, he has no idea how to solve any of this. Lu always has a plan, though — he really hopes that’s true now, too. 

She looks small all of a sudden. She’s somehow always so brazen and confident and never quite acts her size, so it’s a little concerning. It’s like she folds in on herself and all that remains is little more than five feet of girl laced with insecurity. It’s still new to him, seeing her so vulnerable. 

She sighs and buries her head against his chest, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared, alright?” 

Yeah, he can tell. He puts an arm around her and hugs her to his chest. “They’ll be fine, Lu,” he says, and she lets out a huff. “It’s been a long time.” 

He’s bluffing, of course. But they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it — there’s no other option.

**  
  
All in all, Polo is doing okay.  
  
Some days are harder than others. The panic attacks aren’t ever gonna be fully gone — his doctors have explained that to him — but he keeps them in check using breathing techniques, meditation, and, most importantly, drugs.  
  
(Prozac definitely changed his life for the better.)  
  
Sometimes he thinks about how it took him completely losing control of his temper and killing a girl to get his mothers to notice he was struggling. He still can’t quite believe that. No part of him is grateful for that incident whatsoever, but at least he got lifelong justification for therapy out of it, minus the social stigma that usually comes with it.  
  
New York isn’t Madrid, and that’s why he likes it. It’s busier, bigger, borderline overwhelming at times.  
  
Obviously running into Lu, of all people, wasn’t part of the plan. Polo doesn’t _have_ a plan, let’s start there. His plans only went as far as getting into a respectable university — largely thanks to his mothers’ connections — and making sure said university was at least one ocean away from mainland Spain.  
  
Running into her is a total coincidence, and one he probably wouldn’t have expected himself to be happy about.  
  
He’s always found Lu intriguing. Okay, that’s a lie — the truth is he’d always been a little intimidated by her. The way she ruled school hallways with an iron fist, or effortlessly socialized in a way he never could. She’d always been an aloof little mystery. Lucrecia Montesinos: queen of small talk, manipulation and making jokes so off-color, he couldn’t quite believe Carla was willing to laugh at them.  


And now? Now that girl is his... girlfriend, maybe. He’s pretty sure they’re in a relationship, even if they haven’t really labeled it as such. They do everything couples do, they regularly double date with Nadia and Sam, she’s his date to all the NYU mixers he attends and he’s her plus one for basically anything she gets invited to. 

He’s never been the kind of person who needs to be in a relationship to feel content, but finally having someone to confide in and throw affection at and spend all of his free time with feels good. No, it feels great. 

He’s really, really hoping it’s finally his time to be happy.  
  
**  
  
Sometimes Lu is still ridiculous. It’s a gentle reminder that he really is dating — or whatever she wants to call it — the girl he knew back in high school.  
  
“I don’t eat breakfast, Polo,” she says, and then, “I can’t believe you want me to get fat.”  
  
He knows a trap when he sees one, even this early in the morning when he’s sitting at the breakfast bar in his kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of sweats as he groggily pokes at his yogurt and granola with a spoon.  
  
And even though he’s barely awake and really, really hungry, he gets up and crowds her against the kitchen counter, kisses a line from her jaw to her ear to whisper, “You’re perfect.” The moan she lets out is long and drawn out. He loves complimenting Lu because she goes completely insane when she’s praised, will literally let him finger her in the back of a cab if he finds the right compliment to make her pupils dilate. 

He never compliments her for the sake of it, either. All of them are true.  
  
Her hands grasp the counter behind her to steady herself and she whimpers when he pushes her flimsy little tank top off her shoulder to bite at her neck.  
  
“We can’t—,” she tries to protest, but her fingers move to his neck, seemingly encouraging him despite any objections her brain can come up with. “Polo, I have class in an hour.”  
  
“That means we have at least twenty minutes,” he argues, and the way she whines in response lets him know she’s relenting. “Let’s make that fifteen, you’ll definitely need breakfast after this.”  
  
A loud moan escapes her when he unceremoniously grabs her and hoists her up, making quick work of her tiny satin shorts. He still thinks it’s funny how she always starts off like this, with high pitched, drawn-out moans, like a girl who faked orgasms so many times, it’s just how she started to sound.  
  
He’s not usually into power play, or making people submit to him, but something about seeing Lu — the girl who’s always in control, always the one calling the shots — begging him for more, having to abide by whatever parameters he sets is ridiculously hot. 

She’s on time for her class in the end, texts him a selfie of her holding a large cup of coffee, her flushed cheeks a gentle reminder of how their morning started. 

He probably doesn’t need to show off the fact that he went back to bed after she left, but he will. It’s worth it for her annoyed reply alone.

**  


Facebook is for old people. Polo hardly ever checks it anymore, which is why he gets so freaked out when he gets a notification saying El Sombrero — the obnoxiously cartoonish Mexican restaurant slash bar they like to go to near his house because they don’t card — tagged him in a photo on Facebook. 

Maybe he had more margaritas than he thought the other night. 

He sees the notification several hours after it’s posted, because he was in class, and curses when he realizes it’s a picture of him and Lu in a booth, her grinning at him over her margarita glass as he’s wearing the stupid prop sombrero the photographer handed him. Nadia and Sam are sat across from them, and you can sort of see them smiling, but Lu’s huge grin is definitely the focus of the picture. 

She looks amazing, and he looks absolutely smitten, which is exactly what he is — smitten with her. 

Honestly, in hindsight, he was probably just too nice to the photographer. When the guy asked for his Facebook account, Polo assumed it was because he wanted to add him — maybe Lu is right to call him naive sometimes — but now that he’s thinking about it, it makes a lot more sense that it was to tag him in the picture. 

Shit. Facebook really is for old people because he sees his mothers have both already liked the picture, and so did Carla’s mother, and when he sees Ander has reacted to it as well, he realizes he’s fucked. They’re fucked. Their cover is blown. He hurries to untag himself but the damage is most likely done. 

Lu isn’t tagged in the picture and probably doesn’t actively check his Facebook feed to see whether he gets mentioned in posts and already, he’s dreading telling her. She’s going to absolutely lose her mind. 

He considers calling her, but this doesn’t seem like an over the phone conversation. They’re supposed to hang out soon anyway, so he drops by their favorite neighborhood Vietnamese place on the way home to pick up some food. Maybe that’ll soften the blow. 

Lu walks into his apartment about twenty minutes after he gets back, puts her keys down on the kitchen counter, and she doesn’t look mad so she probably hasn’t seen the picture. 

“Hey,” she says, then shrugs off her coat and walks over to where he’s sitting on the couch with their food set out on the table in front of them. He’s on his phone, sort of aimlessly scrolling on Instagram, trying not to be nervous about the conversation they’re gonna have to have. He honestly barely even notices her sitting down next to him until she huffs and reaches for his wrist.  
  
"Put your phone down and pay attention to me," Lu whines, and Polo grins at her as he locks his phone and puts it on the table. Sometimes he still finds it hard to believe that he willingly puts up with her antics.  
  
She seems happy with the pho he got her, and they chat for a while, and he’s about to just get this over with and tell her about the picture (because his therapist keeps telling him delaying confrontation only heightens anxiety) when Lu’s phone buzzes on the table and he sees Carla’s contact picture flash on screen, signaling a video call. Fuck. 

“Why is she calling me,” Lu mutters, ignoring the call and going back to her soup. “It’s like midnight in London, right?” 

Polo shrugs, and yeah, now is probably as good a time as any to tell her. He needs to tell her.

Carla calls Lu’s phone _again_ , not letting up, and dread courses through him. Lu shoots him a look he recognizes to mean ‘don’t show your face on camera’ and he obediently scoots away from her. It stings a little that he’s gotten so used to this.

“Carla? Is everything okay?” 

He can’t see Carla’s face from where he’s sitting, but he can hear the disdain in her voice when she says, “Is Polo there with you?” 

Lu’s face falls, and her mouth goes slack. “What?”

“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Lu. Did you really think I wasn’t going to find out?” 

This is one of the worst moments of his life, for sure. He watches Lu look entirely helpless, completely unprepared to have a conversation he knows she’s been dreading for weeks. He can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she’s trying to process what’s going on. 

“How long has this been going on?” 

Carla still sounds vicious, and he remembers this tone of voice, remembers how intense and terrifying it is to be on the receiving end of it. 

Lu looks small when she says, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Carla.” 

Anyone else would probably take pity on Lu now, but not Carla. Not when she’s this angry. 

“You don’t know what I want you to say? I want you to tell me why I had to find out you’re dating or seeing or what-the-fuck-ever-ing Polo from my _mother_.” 

“Look, I wanted to tell you, okay?” He’s not sure getting defensive is the best strategy here, but he knows this is how Lu apologizes — she barely ever utters the word ‘sorry’. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t take it well.” 

Carla scoffs, and it sounds exasperated. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be here listening to this. It’s not his place. Polo gets up, and curses when he drops his spoon, causing it to clatter on the marble floors. When he looks up, Lu is just staring at him in horror, and he says, “Sorry, I’ll just be in the kitchen,” quietly and hopes Carla can’t hear him. 

Of course she does. “Don’t leave on my account, Polo,” he hears Carla tout. “Maybe I should conference Guzmán in so the four of us can talk about this together.” 

Lu actually winces. This is what she should’ve expected, though; Carla is hard to piss off but when you push her over the threshold, she’s downright cruel. 

It’s none of his business and it’s not his battle to fight, he reminds himself. He still feels the need to stick up for Lu, though. 

Walking over to where she’s sitting, he comes to stand behind her and puts a hand on her shoulder. Lu visibly flinches, she’s that tense. He’s not gonna get involved, but he doesn’t want Carla to think he’s hiding from her.  
  
It’s pretty funny how he only ever seeks out confrontation when he’s trying to stand up for the people he loves.  


“Hi Carla, nice to see you,” he says, trying for nonchalant. Then he addresses Lu, “I’m gonna go for a run,” and she looks back at him to roll her eyes because she thinks people who enjoy running are psychopaths. “Can I trust you two to talk to each other like civilized adults?”  
  
He knows for a fact that Carla holds no grudge against him; she doesn’t have the moral high ground to, not after covering up the Marina incident right alongside him. Chances are she’s just pissed at Lu for keeping this from her.  


Carla rolls her eyes on camera but nods begrudgingly while Lu says, “Yeah.” 

As he walks towards his bedroom to get changed, he thinks he hears Carla say, “Talk,” followed by, “Before I change my mind,” and yeah, he’s pretty proud of his de-escalation tactics. 

Years of therapy come in handy, sometimes.  
  
When he gets back from his run, Lu is in his bed, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s chocolate therapy in her lap. He leans against the doorframe and takes a second to just watch her sit there. She’s in one of his NYU shirts, her face free of makeup, her lips coated in chocolate from the ice cream and he seriously wonders how the hell he got lucky enough to share a bed with her.  
  
Finally walking into the room, he flashes her a hesitant smile and says, “Everything okay?”  
  
Lu snorts, which means nothing is okay, but at least she’s got a sense of humor about it so things with Carla couldn’t have ended too badly.  
  
“She’s gonna talk to Guzmán tomorrow,” Lu says, not meeting his eyes. There’s a moments pause and then Lu pulls a face and rolls her eyes. “So I guess we’ll know if the trip is off then.”  
  
He’s a little sweaty from his run, but he still sits down on the comforter next to Lu and lets her feed him a spoonful of ice cream. 

Her plan had been to tell them in person, and if he’s being honest, it’s probably for the best that they found out before coming here — it’ll give them time to process things.  
  
Polo has a feeling they’re not just gonna cancel a trip to New York five days before their scheduled departure over this, but then again, he has no way of gauging how Guzmán is feeling about him these days.  
  
“I can talk to him,” he offers, then hastily follows it up with, “If you think that would help, I mean, if you w-want,” there’s a small smile playing on her lips and he thinks that must count for something.  
  
And really, he’s known Lu long enough not to expect her to acknowledge him trying to be nice.  
  
Leaning over for a kiss, she pulls away and scrunches up her nose. “Take a shower,” she pushes at his chest jokingly. “You smell.”  
  
And then, when he's already walking away from her, she shouts, "Don't think I'm not mad at you for giving that fucking sombrero dude your Facebook info, by the way," and all is right in the world, somehow.   
  
He's definitely gonna frame that picture.

**  
  
Lu stays with him for most of the week Carla and Guzmán are in town, mainly because it’s convenient — that way, Carla and Guzmán can sleep in her room and she doesn’t need to sleep on the couch.  


Polo isn’t around for the conversation, but Lu fills him in when she gets to his place. She’s tipsy, from the dinner and drinks she had with Carla, Guzmán and Nadia, and Polo only feels a little weird about missing out on their little high school reunion. But this is their first night in town; they weren’t gonna risk forcing a jet-lagged Guzmán to interact with him.  
  
“God, I swear, it was so fucking weird,” she stands at the end of his bed, taking off her dress, a frown on her face. Polo comes up behind her and kisses her collarbone because it's right there and he wants to. “Guzmán was all ‘oh we couldn’t possibly make you sleep on the couch’ which we all know is his way of taking me up on the offer, right?”  
  
He chuckles against her neck and nods a little. Lu shrugs off her dress and turns around in his arms, then slips away from him and walks towards the bed, which she falls back on dramatically.  
  
“And then Nadia, the little shit disturber, had to interfere and told Guzmán I never sleep at the apartment anyway,” she groans, stretching her arms above her head.  
  
“You never do, she’s right,” he teases and Lu rolls her eyes at him. It’s a little difficult for him to express sympathy when she’s in a matching set of black lingerie, pushing her cleavage up as she stretches, but he tries. He’ll distract her after she’s done with her story.  
  
“The tequila definitely helped with the awkwardness, though. Guzmán even asked how you were doing.”  
  
That’s promising, and a little bit of a relief. They’ve got plans to meet for a picnic in Central Park tomorrow — might as well go full tourist if they’ve got friends visiting — and Polo is kind of dreading it.  
  
Smiling, he pushes at her hip until she moves up the bed and makes room for him, then sits down next to her and pulls her into his lap.  
  
“So you’re saying it went okay,” he whispers, watching her tongue dart out to lick at her bottom lip. “I told you everything would be fine.”  
  
“You did,” Lu tells him, sounding fond and warm, and he figures he can put all of that out of his mind for now — tomorrow will probably be weird, but there’s no way to prevent it from happening.  
  
She leans down to kiss him, unclasping her bra at the same time, and when he goes to speak, she puts a hand over his mouth. “No more talking,” she says, grinding down against him for good measure. “Just—“ she interrupts herself with a low moan when he reaches up to run his fingers over her breasts teasingly, her hands going out to steady herself on his shoulders. 

Polo smirks at her. “Just what, Lu?”  
  
It’s exhilarating how he can make her go from being fully in charge to this writhing, incoherent mess with the simplest of touches. He loves how responsive she is, and there’s no better feeling than hearing her beg.  
  
“Please just,” he’s biting at her neck now, and he can practically feel her growing tense with impatience, frustrated at her own body’s reaction to him. She lets out a helpless huff, then says, “Just fuck me already,” and he smirks against her neck because he knows he’s won.  
  
They both like these play fights a little too much.  
  
**  
  
Seeing Guzmán and Carla again is awkward for about two seconds, and then his polite streak takes over, so he hugs both of them enthusiastically as he glosses over the awkwardness with chitchat.  
  
It works surprisingly well.  
  
Lu is by his side, holding his hand, and for once in her life she’s not interested in taking the lead in a conversation. He knows she’s probably more nervous than him, if the way she filled their picnic basket with more food than the four of them could possibly eat is any indication, and he thinks that’s kind of cute. 

This is how Lu shows she cares. Subtle, hard to spot nuances — he’s learned to read between the lines with her.  
  
“This city is way too crowded,” Guzmán huffs, and Polo nods. “You know how much I hate standing in line for stuff.”  
  
Yeah, he does know that. Guzmán is infamously impatient. “Well, you came to the wrong place, my friend.”  
  
They find a place to sit down on Cedar Hill, and Lu gets to work on getting the picnic blanket spread out on the ground. She keeps messing up the corners, until Carla finally rolls her eyes and goes over to help her.  
  
It’s really not as weird as he thought it would be. They go back and forth on breaking into pairs for conversations and he actually speaks to Guzmán enough for him to warm up a little. It almost feels like old times.  
  
When the bottle of champagne is finally empty and their lunch long gone, Lu pokes his shoulder to get his attention while he’s talking to Guzmán about the latest controversial football transfers happening in La Liga.  
  
“Carla and I are gonna do some shopping,” she says, brushing her hand over his shoulder. “Are you two gonna be okay here?”  


Of course. He should’ve seen this coming — the girls are scheming to get them to talk. He squeezes Lu’s hand to let her know he’s onto her and nods. 

Guzmán cackles and fixes Carla with a look. “Do we look like we need a babysitter?”  
  
The girls exchange glances, and then both nod, which is pretty rude, but Polo is kind of busy feeling relieved at how well this whole reunion has gone so far.  
  
“Don’t buy anything I wouldn’t buy,” he tells Lu, who groans and pecks his lips.  
  
“You’re right, I should definitely wear more plaid button-downs.”  
  
Once the girls have taken off, Guzmán clamps a hand over his shoulder and grins. “Can we get drunk now?”  
  
It’s two in the afternoon on a Monday, but it’s spring break and Polo really wouldn’t mind some liquid courage.

“It’s a good thing you just turned 21,” Polo mumbles, and it feels super weird to point out — being around Guzmán instantly makes him feel fourteen again.  
  
And because they’re on the Upper East Side, they end up at a swanky cocktail bar nearby, owned by some edgy celebrity chef. It’s all very cliché, but certainly an experience Guzmán won’t forget, judging by the intrigued way he watches the rest of the patrons from their table in the back of the bar.  
  
“How many of the women in here do you think are actually high-class escorts?”  
  
At this time of day, and in this part of town, that’s a fair question to ask. “Probably at least half,” Polo says, sipping his cocktail. “Either that or they’re third wives.”  
  
They’re about five drinks in when Guzmán, now fairly tipsy, glances at him and sighs. “Hey, man, I think I owe you an apology,” he says, and Polo instantly freezes up, then goes to disagree.  
  
“No you don’t,” he tells him, trying hard not to let his nerves show. “You had every right to treat me the way you did.”  
  
“Yeah I know, but,” Guzmán runs a hand through his hair, and there’s a deep crease on his forehead. “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. I know it wasn’t, like, a conscious thing you did.”  
  
Polo lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Of course not, no.”  
  
“Yeah, so I don’t think it’s fair to put this on you.”  
  
“Look, Guzmán, I’m so fucking sorry, I—“ he takes a deep breath. “I still think about it every day, about how I fucked everything up, how my stupid fucking brain just short-circuited and I couldn’t snap out of it and…” There’s no cocktail strong enough to soothe the ache that’s blossoming in his chest, but he still downs the rest of his drink. “I just wish I could take it all back.”  
  
Guzmán looks like he’s on the verge of tears, and Polo is holding back some of his own.  
  
The taller boy shakes his head as he says, “All we can do is look ahead and try to enjoy the time we’ve been given. Marina wouldn’t want us to waste time rehashing this.”  
  
And this is it, isn’t it? The sort of closure — the moment of absolution — that he’s been waiting for. It’s been almost four years of agony, of therapy, of medication, and while all of that has helped to some degree, this moment is pivotal. This is what will allow him to make some serious progress with his healing. He’s tempted to call his therapist right away to brag about it.  
  
Fuck, he really wants to hug him. “Would it be weird if we hug?” He asks, but he’s already getting up and sliding into the booth next to Guzmán, throwing his arms around him. It’s a cathartic hug, and Guzmán is hugging him back just as tight, like he was waiting for this moment, too.  
  
When they pull apart, Guzmán is wearing his signature grin, a blatant contrast to the tears in his eyes. “So,” he says, putting an arm around Polo. “How the fuck did we end up switching girlfriends? I’m gonna need you to recap that for me.”  
  
Maybe they won’t be best friends again anytime soon, but for the first time in a while, Polo feels at ease about it all.

They meet Lu and Carla for dinner later, and the girls take one look at them before turning away from the restaurant they were headed to and calling an Uber. 

“You two can barely walk,” Lu says, rolling her eyes as she puts an arm around Polo to steady him. “I’m not taking you to Bagatelle like this.” 

Polo whines a little at that, because he really likes the gnocchi at Bagatelle, but knows there’s no point arguing with Lu once she goes all disappointed mom on a mission on him. 

Guzman is stumbling along the sidewalk as they wait for their car, and Lu eyes him warily, then addresses Carla. “I see he’s still the same energetic drunk,” Carla groans as she nods. “Just like old times.”  
  
**  
  
He somehow gets stuck going up to the top of the Empire State Building with Carla. Guzmán, Lu and Nadia have all been before, and he hasn’t because he’s never really thought of it as a fun thing to do. He’s not afraid of heights, but they’re not his favorite thing in the world.  
  
Carla loves tall buildings and is apparently dying to go. He’s being polite when he offers to come along — he didn’t think she’d agree to it. He really needs to stop being this nice all the time.  
  
It’s honestly kind of a fun little excursion. They book tickets online to avoid long lines, and the views are pretty cool. Carla snorts when they witness a proposal up on the viewing platform and he laughs, too — what a fucking cliché.  
  
“You could take Lu here and make all of her Chuck and Blair dreams come true,” Carla teases and he rolls his eyes at her. He’s seen enough episodes of Gossip Girl (thanks to both his current and his ex-girlfriend) to get that reference.  
  
“She’d probably push me off the edge,” he suggests, hoping that will put the topic to bed.  
  
They walk around a little and take some pictures, and he has to admit the view is pretty cool, as long as he doesn’t look down.  
  
Carla buys him lunch at Chipotle after, because she’s always wanted to try it and Lu refused to take her on the grounds of it being “Terrible Mexican food, Carla, you are betraying my people,” which probably isn’t wrong. Polo’s never been to Mexico, but the food at Chipotle is kind of bland.  
  
“So,” Carla says when they sit down with their burritos. “When did you realize you’re in love with Lu?”  
  
Polo chokes on his coke. “Excuse me?”  
  
She rolls her eyes and takes a bite of her food. “You heard me.”  
  
Leave it to Carla to orchestrate an entire day out only to get information out of him. She still knows him too well, because he takes a little too long to answer, avoiding her gaze, so she smirks at him knowingly.  
  
“A while, then,” she muses, shaking her head in disbelief. “Man the fuck up and tell her, because there is no way she’ll make the first move.”  
  
Polo groans. “Why are you getting involved in this? You literally didn’t even know we were seeing each other until, like, a week ago…”  
  
“Please, you should have seen Lu last summer, before Guzmán and I made things official — she was insufferable. This is my chance for revenge,” she grins and — yeah, he was around for some of that, so he kind of sees her point. “Plus, I want her to be happy. She seems really happy with you.”  
  
That’s oddly sweet of her to say, so he smiles at her, suddenly feeling a little shy. “She does?”  
  
“Oh my god, stop fishing for compliments,” Carla tells him, but he can tell she’s kind of thrilled he’s going along with this. “Lu totally wants to be your girlfriend.”  
  
“We should definitely have a double wedding when all of this is over,” he says, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Just imagine all of our parents having to talk to each other.”  
  
Carla shakes her head. “Poor Lu. Your moms will never like her more than me.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he says, grinning at her, glad to have his confidence back. “They’re still pretty mad about the fact that you made me cover up a murder.”  
  
She gasps, all mock-offended, and he’s kind of impressed with himself for pulling that dig off.  
  
“Hey, I lied for you in court,” she teases, and then they’re both cracking up.  
  
Lu is half-asleep in his arms later that night when he decides he feels like messing with her.  
  
“So,” he starts, running a hand up her arm. “Carla says you want me to be your boyfriend.”  
  
She actually scoffs, then turns around and smirks at him. This woman is gonna be the fucking death of him someday.  
  
Her hand comes up to brush some hair out of his face. “Carla’s full of shit.” 

He hums in agreement, says, “Sure, but you’re also my girlfriend.”  
  
She tilts her chin up to look at him, and he swears there are stars in her eyes, constellations showing him the way to her lips. Lu kisses him, slow and sweet, then pulls away, a small frown on her face.  
  
“I haven’t had a boyfriend in over three years,” she teases. “What if I don’t like it?”  
  
He shrugs, his voice low. “Pretty sure you already do.” He’s not gonna bother telling her they’ve basically been in a relationship since last summer; she must know that, anyway.  
  
“This,” Lu pecks his lips — to reassure him, or just because she wants to — who knows. “This complicates things. Are we gonna fight and grow apart and do stupid shit, like have threesomes to spice up our relationship now?”  
  
Ha. Their _relationship_. She just said that out loud. It’s been seven months in the making; forgive him for feeling a little giddy.  
  
“Yes,” he says, fully joking. “And then I’ll cheat on you with my secretary and you’re gonna start fucking your hot, young personal trainer in retaliation.”  
  
She smirks and hums her approval. “That does sound pretty tempting,” her arms are around his neck, and he’s ready to stop messing around and have passionate officially-in-a-relationship sex any minute now. “Tell me more about this personal trainer.”  
  
Polo pulls her on top of him and then turns them around, pushing her into the mattress. “I’ll tell you all about him after we consummate the marriage.”  
  
Then she’s kissing him, and he almost doesn’t notice her calling him a fucking idiot in a super affectionate voice because he’s a little busy taking her clothes off.  
  
Commitment is _awesome_. Polo’s a big fan.  
  
**  
  
“Wait,” Lu says, slurring her words a little as she grins at Carla. “Are you and Nadia the only people in the room who haven’t hooked up?”  
  
They’re at Lu and Nadia’s place, all of them way past tipsy thanks to the tequila Lu insisted they all drink, celebrating the fact that it’s Guzmán and Carla’s last night in the city. Polo is actually kind of sad about it, which is a bizarre turn of events if you ask him.  
  
Carla seems to think about Lu’s words, and then she’s nodding. “I guess so.”  
  
Guzmán says, “Wait, when did you and Lu hook up,” at the same time as Polo yells, “Guzmán and I definitely didn’t,” and they turn to grin at each other. Their priorities are amusing.  
  
Lu shrugs and leans into Polo a little, her head resting against his knees as she sits on the floor in front of him. “Kissing counts, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Carla agrees and winks at Lu. “You know, normal teenager things, like drunkenly making out with your best friend.”  
  
Polo laughs as he runs his hand through Lu’s hair, grinning at Carla across from him. “Are you saying you cheated on me with my now-girlfriend?”  
  
There’s laughter all around until Carla jokingly shushes them all. “It was hardly cheating.”  
  
“Kinda sounds like it was,” Guzmán chimes in, and Carla elbows him, then laughs when Lu interrupts from her spot on the floor, faking anger.  
  
“You do not get to complain about cheating,” she says, all the while giving Nadia a pointed look.  
  
Nadia throws her hands up and giggles, “Oops,” and the fact that they’re laughing about all of the fucked up history between the five of them is kind of a miracle. Tequila is great.  
  
It’s Guzmán who starts giggling uncontrollably, laughing so hard he’s holding his abs in pain. All four other people in the room are staring at him, eagerly waiting for him to share whatever is so funny.  
  
“Lu,” he giggles, and she arches an eyebrow in anticipation. “Is your boyfriend technically your brother’s ex?”  
  
Lu groans and buries her face in her hands and Polo protests, “No, come on, that was barely even a fling,” then reaches down to playfully cover her ears. “I only slept with him twice.”  
  
“Just think of it as a bonding exercise with your future brother-in-law,” Nadia grins, and Lu actually lets out a little scream. God, she’s such a drama queen.  
  
She wordlessly reaches for the bottle of tequila and takes a swig. “I hate all of you, for the record.”  
  
It’s one of his top five all-time favorite drunken evenings, and the hangover in the morning, when he wakes up spooning Lu on her couch, is definitely worth it.  
  
**  
  
If you would’ve asked him before whether there’s any way they could possibly act more couply and domestic, he would’ve said no.  
  
He was absolutely wrong.  
  
It seems despite spending most of her nights at his place before, Lu was kind of holding back. She makes him clean out a few drawers for her, buys a fluffy robe and some slippers to keep at his apartment, and when he comes home to her decorating his living room with candles one afternoon in April, he laughs, then walks over to kiss her.  
  
“Are you moving in?” He teases, and she rolls her eyes.  
  
“I’m just improving the ambiance of the place,” she tells him, somehow looking completely serious. “It was kind of dull before.”  
  
He takes the candle from her fingers and sets it down on the shelf they’re standing next to, then pulls her closer by the hips. “My hero, always saving me from leading a dull life.”  
  
Lu actually groans, but then she’s got her hands on his shoulders, pushing him towards the couch until he falls back onto it and she sits down in his lap.  
  
“It’s my leadership abilities,” she grins, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ll have to add spiritual leadership on lifestyle topics to my LinkedIn skills.”  
  
He hums in agreement. “I’ll endorse you for it.”  
  
Lu unbuttons his shirt and smirks. “You fucking better,” she says, and then she’s kissing down his chest, reaching for the zipper on his pants, moving lower.  
  
His head falls back as his hands tangle in her hair. He can think of plenty of other skills to endorse her for as well. (They might not be entirely LinkedIn appropriate.)  


**  
  
The first real test of their new relationship comes in the run-up to finals. Lu is a lot to handle at any given time, but sleep-deprived Lu after five cups of coffee and twelve hours spent at the library is… a challenge, even for him. 

They’ve had smaller fights before, of course. Those were nothing compared to this.  
  
In hindsight, his mistake was probably trying to have a normal conversation with her when they’re in bed and he’s too tired to think straight. She’s been ranting about how she’s absolutely going to fail this Public Policy final because the professor is a hardass, and he knows her, alright? There’s no way she’s failing anything.  
  
Lu apparently does not appreciate it when he tells her to, quote, “Just relax and stop being ridiculous.”  
  
“You know what,” Lu accuses, pulling out of his embrace to glare at him. “It would be great if you could be supportive of my academic pursuits rather than suggesting they’re _‘ridiculous’_.”  
  
Polo sighs, and he knows he’s about to make things worse before the words even leave his mouth. “I never said your ‘academic pursuits’,” he uses air quotes for good measure, ”Are ridiculous. You’re just _being_ ridiculous.”  
  
She gasps, which is exactly the sort of dramatic reaction he expected from her. God, can they just wrap this up and go to sleep? It’s been a long day, and he’s got studying to do tomorrow too, even if he isn’t as dedicated to his _academic pursuits_ or whatever the fuck she wants to call her obsessive need to be the best at everything.  
  
“Maybe I should go home,” she says, and actually slips out of bed to find her clothes. That’s just ridiculous. See what he means? She’s ridiculous. He’s not gonna let her leave by herself at two in the morning; New York is a big city and she’s tiny and gorgeous and probably every human traffickers’ wet dream. “You clearly don’t want me here, nor do you want to be supportive of my ambitions.”  
  
He groans, exasperated, and she turns to glare at him as she’s stepping into her jeans. “Jesus, you are too fucking much,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. He gets up and grabs her arm to pull her closer right as she’s about to walk out of the room. “Lu, come on,” he tries, biting his tongue instead of telling her she’s being stupid. That’s probably not gonna go down too well right now. “Come back to bed, baby.”  
  
She scrunches up her nose and he grins; she hates pet names, and he knows it, so he uses them exclusively to piss her off.  
  
“If you’re gonna call me that, I’m definitely leaving,” she says, pouting at him, but he can tell his diversion technique worked because she’s also smiling a little.  
  
What does dating a completely crazy woman say about him? Does that make him crazy? His therapist would probably be inclined to agree. Game recognizes game.  
  
He unbuttons her jeans again, then slips his hands under the waistband and laughs when he realizes that she didn’t even bother putting her underwear back on in her rush to leave. “Sorry babe, my house, my rules,” he says, and Lu groans at the stupid pet name. 

“I basically live here,” she says, voice petulant, then puts her arms around his neck. “I should get some say in things.”  
  
Thank god. Crisis averted. He runs his hand over her hipbones and grins when she whines a little. 

“Can we just go back to bed, please? We both have to get up early tomorrow and I’d like to cash in on the make-up sex I am cosmically owed before we sleep,” Lu rolls her eyes at him, but he sees the way she bites her lip and knows she’s totally angling for the same thing. If fighting is good for anything, it’s this.  
  
Lu sighs, all dramatic and over the top, then nods and leans in for a kiss.  
  
She’s literally the most annoying person he knows. He loves her so much.  
  
**  
  
Being back in Madrid now that he’s officially no longer being shunned by all of (most of) his childhood friends is kind of weird, honestly.  
  
His mothers know he’s with Lu, and they’ve already gotten the awkwardness of having her come around for dinner and drinks over with. Lu made him join her and her dad for lunch last Sunday, too, which went better than he thought — apparently the fact that his mothers forced him to play golf growing up is finally good for something because her dad makes him have a full thirty-minute conversation about handicaps and he's left wondering how it's possible for them to not have anything more interesting in common.  
  
Unsurprisingly, it’s Valerio’s idea to get everyone together for dinner, for some sort of triple date from hell. Polo hasn’t actually seen either Valerio or Rebeka since their senior year of high school, and if Valerio wasn’t also in a serious relationship, it might be weird. Letting himself hook up with Valerio and Cayetana for that brief, stupid, week-long fling right before he left for boarding school was probably unnecessary, but they’re adults now — hopefully, they can put that behind them.  
  
“They act like an old married couple,” Lu warns as they’re sitting in the back of an Uber on their way to Valerio’s place. “It’s hard to believe it’s been less than three years.”  
  
Polo can’t really picture Valerio and Rebeka together at all, so he’s kind of curious to see what Lu is talking about.  
  
When Valerio buzzes them up to his apartment, he’s all bashful smiles and easy-going jokes, and it’s honestly hilarious to think about how Valerio is a fully grown adult with a real job, because he still gives off a sort of happy-go-lucky, youthful teenager vibe.  
  
“Welcome to the family,” Valerio jokes as he hugs him tight, and Polo chuckles. “You know, Lu’s always wanted a real mother figure in her life. Kind of makes sense she’d go for a guy that’ll get her not one but _two_ mothers-in-law.”  
  
Next to him, Lu breaks away from her hug with Rebeka to hit her brother in the head, groaning. “You’re so full of shit,” she says, and Val grins at her, then ushers her inside.  
  
Rebeka rolls her eyes at Polo when he tries to shake her hand in greeting and pulls him in for a hug. “No need to be so formal,” she says, then looks him up and down. “Looking good, what’s your secret?”  
  
He’s in his usual summer get-up of beige twill shorts and a button-down — the green one Lu likes and made him wear — so he knows Rebeka is just being polite.  
  
“Therapy,” he grins. “And lots of different anti-depressants over the years.”  
  
She actually smiles at him, then leads him into the living room, where the table is already set. “Good for you.”  
  
Carla and Guzmán get there a few minutes later, presenting them with a couple of bottles of wine as an apology for being late, and Valerio laughs as he takes the wine from Carla. “You think you’re the only one with access to quality wines?”  
  
They talk about work for a few minutes, because Carla is apparently getting more involved with the wineries now that she’s done with her degree, and then Guzmán groans and makes them stop. Honestly, this whole evening is already so much more fun than Polo expected it to be. He has no idea why he thought it would be awkward; maybe it’s because he’s pretty sure he’s never seen the other five people in the room with him get along this well before.  
  
Dinner is surprisingly good. He has no idea who made the Ratatouille but is definitely edible. When he comments on it, Rebeka looks stoked, so he’s guessing this is her doing.  
  
They’re getting ready for dessert when Lu gasps next to him, looking back and forth between Rebeka and Valerio. “Why are you two wearing matching rings?”  
  
Huh, Polo hadn’t really noticed that. He looks over to check, and they are — the rings are nice, too, definitely expensive.  
  
Rebeka snorts. “Promise rings. Saving ourselves for marriage, right, Val?”  
  
Valerio nods, a sheepish grin on his face as he grabs Rebeka’s hand to play with the ring on her finger. No one at the table comments on the fact that they successfully avoided giving a straight answer.  
  
Lu looks positively scandalized as she looks around the room. “Wait, do you two _live_ together?”  
  
Rebeka laughs, asks, “Where have you been for the past two years?” And now that he’s really paying attention, it doesn’t look like a bachelor pad at all.  
  
Next to him, Lu groans. “In denial about all of this,” she says, the grin on her face giving her away — she clearly isn’t all that bothered.  
  
Valerio smiles at his sister. “Are you gonna tell us we’re living in sin now?”  
  
“No,” Lu purses her lips. “But if you’d told me, I would’ve been calling Rebeka weekly to make sure she hasn’t killed you yet. You’re such a fucking slob.”  
  
Rebe hums in agreement, and Guzmán sighs and glances at Carla, smiling. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell her.”  
  
Carla runs a hand down his cheek and laughs.  
  
Lu is really, really bad at not knowing things, so she instantly starts tapping her foot impatiently. It’s annoying, and he puts a hand on her knee to make her stop. “Tell me what? I swear to god if you don’t tell me right now…”  
  
“Thanks, dumbass,” Carla tells her boyfriend, then turns to Lu. “I’m moving to Barcelona after graduation, to keep this idiot in check.”  
  
“Oh thank god,” Lu sounds relieved. “I thought you were pregnant with twins or something.”  
  
There’s a mental picture he won’t get out of his head anytime soon — Carla and Guzmán, with two perfect, identical, blonde kids.  
  
“I’ve been drinking wine all night, are you really suggesting I’d be that irresponsible?”  
  
The girls are staring at each other, sort of cracking up, and Polo pours them all a little more wine; they can probably use it.  
  
“What about you two,” Rebeka prompts, glancing at him and Lu. “Where’s your big news?”  
  
Polo smiles at Lu, then grabs her hand. “We have one more year of undergrad left,” he says, shrugging. “No need for big news until then.”  
  
Lu smirks at him, then laughs a little. “If I keep him around that long.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s a really big if,” he agrees, leaning over to kiss her hair.  
  
They have plans for the future, of course. Lu is a little too ambitious to just wait things out. She gives him a private little look, and really, the important things are just between them.  
  
He’s pretty sure she’ll keep him around.  
  
//  
  
fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I literally wrote this entire thing just to give Polo a happy ending. He DESERVES it, okay??? Okay.

**Author's Note:**

> find me [on tumblr](http://cupcakeb.tumblr.com/)


End file.
